He was such a bloody hopeless fool. He couldn’t even convince the woman he loved to be with him. The only thing that would help swallow down the bitterness of that taste was brandy. And a fight. Which he was ready to pick.
Hence, White’s.
He had come to realize that he was no good at letting the things he treasured most in life go.
Not his daughter.
Not Phaedra.
Not a chance at happiness.
So much regret clawed and fought for domination. He ruthlessly pushed it down. Regret served no one.
Which was how he’d come to a decision—to give Phaedra what she wanted. Space. It would be deuced hard, but he had meant what he had said. She would have to come to him. Although, honestly, he might have meant what he said at the time, but he regretted it thirty seconds later. If she didn’t come to him...
Well, Deerhurst had never been a man to give up easily.
He almost felt sorry for her. He almost felt sorry for himself.
He would woo the stockings right off her perfect legs. But first he had to wait a bit. If she wasn’t with child, then they could put that chapter behind them and start anew. Then again if she was... it still didn’t matter. Whether she was with child or not, he would still use every weapon in his arsenal, every resource at his disposal to win her over.
He would not stop. Ever.
And since he told her she would have to come to him, he had to figure out how to woo Phaedra from a distance. Luckily, he didn’t live that far away from her. He also had the upper hand with her cat.
There was no letting Phaedra go. Not while there was still breath left in his body.
However, there was still the matter of Cromby. He spotted him almost instantly on the first floor of White’s. Wasn’t that hard. He still sat—smug smile plastered on his face—in the same spot Deerhurst had left him.
Fool.
Deerhurst clenched his jaw and strode over to Cromby’s table, plopping down lazily in a seat across from him. “I just thought I’d inform you that your plan has failed. Lady Phaedra is well, and Howard is leaving London as we speak.”
Cromby’s eyes hardened, the muscles in his own jaw clenching. “I have no idea of which you speak.”
Deerhurst ignored him. “There is, however, still a matter we need to settle.”
“Not that I can see,” Cromby bit out.
Deerhurst quirked up his lips in one of those smiles that mocked. “Tell me, whydidyou put that list in the book? You could have tossed it away.”
Cromby sneered. “Where would be the fun in that?”
Deerhurst bit down on his jaw. Fun? He wanted to punch the man in the face, but he all too well remembered what he and his friends had thought as fun when the list had been in their own hands.
“And tonight? You never thought twice about ruining an innocent woman’s reputation? About what she might go through?” Of course, he hadn’t, but Deerhurst wanted to hear Cromby say it.
“She is to marry one way or another. What does it matter how it comes to pass? What do you want, Deerhurst? By your own account my supposed plan failed. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
From the corner of his eye, Deerhurst saw Mortimer and Leeds glance their way.
“Retribution.”
Cromby scoffed. “For what exactly?”
The man couldn’t be this daft. He truly thought he could get away with what had happened tonight. “You sent a man to compromise a woman’s virtue as part of a plot to get your hands on a portion of her fortune,” Deerhurst said loud and clear.
“A plot you cannot possibly prove.”
